


OPERATION: Smoking Father

by Noscere



Series: Operation Rejected Asylum (XCOM) [4]
Category: XCOM (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack, Gen, I'm Going to Hell, We are all teenagers on this blessed day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 21:44:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11067732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noscere/pseuds/Noscere
Summary: For sale: five XCOM soldiers, ostensibly adults, actually teenagers in disguise. Slightly filthy mouths and minds. Very nosy: keep all personal info out of reach. Free to a good home. do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offersOr: Bradford's redesign is why he drinks.





	OPERATION: Smoking Father

“I’m just saying, sir, if you fuck the way you fly–“

Bradford mentally counted off the hours until the end of his shift. He had planned to open the bottle of Glentauchers 1996 when ADVENT had fallen and the Commander was– his dreams of a geopolitically stable world aside, the drink was meant for a celebration.

At the rate his day was going, the precious single malt scotch would be just another mile marker to acute liver failure.

“Nah,” Jepson said. “When Central flies, we all get fucked.”

Beighlie trudged her way through the thick Thai mud. “Exactly! It's a wonder there aren’t more Bradfordlets running around.”

“Never went to Thailand before,” Bradford said, stepping over a rotted log as thick as his trunk. Frogs whooped and croaked around him. “So unless ADVENT’s harvesting precious bodily fluids, she ain’t mine."

“The kid did have the patented perma-scowl,” Durand mused. “Do you ever smile, Central?”

“Not with you kids around.”

His soldiers looked like Christmas had come early, and Santa had brought all the good little boys and girls Mk 19 grenade launchers. Or bacon. It was a running joke that the war would be over in seconds if ADVENT offered the Resistance an unlimited amount of food not scavenged from swamps or reconstituted protein paste.

In defense of Bradford’s cooking skills, there weren’t too many ways to cook Mekong catfish that didn’t involve a deep fryer and enough oil for Russia to fix its now-absent economy.

 

“Is that an admission, Dadford?” Liu tutted as he jumped over a mud puddle. “What a father. No birthdays, no cards in the mail… just shoot and scoot.”

“Wonder what the Commander’ll have to say about that. It’s right out of a K-Drama,” Beighlie sighed and placed a dramatic hand over her forehead. “I can see it now. _Oh, Bradford! How could you! You were the only number two for me!_ ”

Kwon was bringing up the back, hauling a massive cartload of water plants and freshly caught fish. Somehow he still found the breath to butt in. “That’s the worst K-Drama impression I’ve ever seen.”

“What would you know, Kwon?” Jepson asked. “You were born after the apocalypse.”

“Osmosis,” Kwon said, drier than the pastries in the Avenger’s Mess Hall. “Got it from my dad.”

Liu, the son of a XCOM Base Security officer, shook his head. “Aww, that poor kid’s gonna get Bradford’s sweater. Lame.”

Beighlie pointed at the rifle in Bradford’s hands. “What about that gun?”

“Can’t be,” Liu said, “kid’s not trying to compensate for something. Speaking of which, how’s the Commander treating you sir?”

The rag-tag group of soldiers laughed. Bradford quietly resolved to place them all on kitchen duty when they returned. Let _them_ try to make carp into something remotely resembling edible.

“Knock it off. Keep an eye out for ADVENT.” The Central Officer kept a firm grip on his rifle. The forest chattered with birds and amphibians, the ambient noise loud enough to mask the approach of an ADVENT foot patrol. Then again, ADVENT wouldn’t send men out to this patch of mosquito-infested middle of nowhere, Thailand.

“Don’t you mean, knock it up?” Kwon quipped, slapping a mosquito on his cheek.

Deep breaths. There was alcohol at the end of this shitty rainbow. It was just the heat getting to his soldiers’ brains.

“Alcoholic veteran isn’t exactly in style,” Bradford said as the Avenger’s hulking form crested over the treetops. Mud sucked at his boots, but he slogged on. There was a cold shower, rotgut, and the Commander waiting to laugh with him aboard the Avenger.

“Dunno, sir. You’ve got the looks.” Jepson grinned and stretched. On his back, the pack full of scavenged alien alloys groaned and threatened to tear. “It’s the beard, ain’t it?” He mimed scratching the stubble over his chin.

“Mm, I think it’s the hair.” Beighlie’s voice took on a very appreciative tone that made all the hairs on the back of Bradford’s neck stand up. “I guess the Commander’s a fan of silver foxes.”

“Bigger fan of otters,” Bradford said absent-mindedly. The Commander had mentioned something about visiting the Monterey Bay aquarium while they had–

Oh no. His pack of soldiers was _silent_.

 

“Sexual Officer Bradford, reporting for duty!” Liu chirped.

Durand did her best attempt at a salute while holding a basket full of bananas. “The only kind of close range he’ll do!”

Like a pack of piranhas that had detected an injured beast, the crew ripped into the practicalities of Bradford’s non-existent personal life.

“Central Officer Beardford,” Jepson said, doing his best to scrape gravel with his voice, “has insisted on breeding the squad–“

“Leading,” Kwon corrected.

“He had it right the first time,” Bradford said. “If it isn’t heat stroke making you act up, you’re all fucked when we get back.”

“Kinky.” Beighlie cocked her head. “Does the Commander know?”

“Hit us harder–“ Liu’s face suddenly split into a wide, shit-eating grin. “ _Braddy daddy_!”

The search team skidded to a stop. Durand clutched a hanging vine for support as she sobbed for breath. Kwon was burying his face in his muddy jacket, shoulders heaving. Beighlie’s hands were full, but she slammed the heel of her palm into the side of her gun to applaud Liu’s terrible sense of humor. Jepson laughed so hard that the soldier didn’t notice the root snagging his foot.

The Sharpshooter fell face-first into a veritable lake of stagnant water, quickly accompanied by his pack full of alien alloys, and spraying the rest of the team in filthy water.

50 meters. Bradford could refrain from strangling someone for another 50 meters.

 

* * *

 

“Hey Central, catch.”

Freshly cleaned and treated for mosquito bites, Bradford had been in a much better mood. That was, until he grabbed the banana before it clocked him in the face. “The universe is conspiring against me,” he stated, sitting back down at the table.

“Sorry to break your steady diet of alcohol, but it was this or unripe mango.” The Commander peeled another banana. “What do you have against healthy eating? Is that an American thing?”

“Well, for one, I’m self-aware.” Bradford finished off his bowl of catfish congee. He checked his watch. 30 minutes before the end of his shift. It couldn’t come early enough. He was sore, aching in a thousand places from the day's work, and fed up with his soldiers' antics.

Speaking of soldiers…

“Commander, for God’s sake, eat like a normal person.”

“Mmf?” the Commander said through a mouthful of banana.

The sniggering in the Mess Hall increased. It sounded like someone had kicked a hive of bees.

“Isoamyl acetate,” Tygan muttered. “Should go check the synthesis reaction.” The doctor gathered his dinner and exited the mess at top speed.

“ROV-R could use some tuning,” Shen said, following hot on Tygan’s heels.

“Traitor,” Bradford muttered. “Your dad wouldn’t ditch me.”

“Yeah, Dad. Don’t you want your vitamins?” Lt. Melnick called from across the Mess. Dear god, the madness was spreading. “You know, your vitamin K, your vitamin C–“

“I think someone should _go to their room_ ,” Bradford said.

“Your vitamin D–“

XCOM’s mess hall briefly played host to a pack of hyenas. The Glentauchers 1996 in Bradford’s room was singing his name.

“I don’t think bananas have any vitamin D,” the Commander mused. “Tygan would know. Shame he left.”

“He’s a biochemist, not that kind of scientist,” Bradford reminded his superior with a tired sigh.

“Same thing.” His superior waved the banana at him. Small, delicate bites had disappeared from the tip, and– Bradford was too sober and hot for this shit. He was describing how people ate their goddamn food, for fuck’s sake. Unless the men had slipped a hallucinogen into the food (and he wasn’t sure that today hadn’t been some heat-derived, malaria and mescal-filled nightmare), there was no need for Bradford to watch others eat. What he really needed was to kick ADVENT off the planet and then do a Yoda in the Northeastern US woods where he could take nice, _cold_ showers alone–"

“Uh, Central? You're staring," Technician Cree said.

Bradford shook himself. While the Commander told him about the day's work, he pretended the banana he was eating made up for the beer he'd be downing tonight.

"–and we made contact with the Polynesian cell, so we're on track," the Commander finished. "Oh, and Shen found something you might enjoy while cleaning up Engineering. How was your day?”

“You won’t believe the day I’ve had, Commander.” Bradford rubbed his eyes. “This’d better be good.”

The search team came marching into the room, Durand at their head, carrying an amber bottle of Bunnahabhain 8-year-old Scotch.

The Central Officer could almost forgive them their transgressions.

“Congratulations, Papa. It’s a beautiful hangover,” Durand said as she cradled the bottle. “Look! He has your eyes!”

Bradford touched the com-link on his ear. “Tygan, can you start researching artificial organs? I’m gonna need a new liver.”

 

 

 

**Official things X-COM Operatives are not allowed to do, Avenger edition:**

 

 

> 90\. The proper way to address Central Officer Bradford is either “sir” or “Central," not any variant of father puns.
> 
> 90a. Bradford doesn’t owe child support. Stop sending bills on official XCOM channels, Lt. [REDACTED]
> 
> 90ai. Jerry Springer, Maury, and other trashy shows died with the invasion. Get over it.
> 
> 90b. Stop requesting Bradford to “break out the belt already.”
> 
> 90bi. The writer of “Braddy Daddy: the Whippening” is to be congratulated for their disregard for human anatomy. Report to the Quarters for disciplinary measures.
> 
>  

**Author's Note:**

> Not from the official List, but inspired by https://twitter.com/MckKirk/status/730832250275823616 and multiple forums' reactions to XCOM2. Ah well. At least it wasn't snakes this time.
> 
> The Monterey Bay Aquarium did have an exhibit on otters, called "Wild About Otters". Unfortunately, they've pulled the links, but small clawed otters are adorable and everyone should see one at least once.
> 
> Technically an AU to Operation Rejected Asylum. Alcohol abuse is not a laughing matter, and help is there if you need it.


End file.
